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Unsatisfied
The bird flies home to its young;The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud;And in my neighbour's house there is the cry of a child.I close my window that I need not hear.She is mine, and she is very beautiful:And in her heart there is no evil thought.There is even love in her heart -Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world,And love of me (or love of my love for her);Yet she will never consent to bear me a child.And when I speak of it she weeps,Always she weeps, saying:'Do I not bring joy enough into your life?Are you not satisfied with me and my love,As I am satisfied with you?Never would I urge you to some great perilTo please my whim; yet ever so you urge me,Urge me to risk my happiness - yea, life itself -S...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Less Than The Cloud To The Wind
Less than the cloud to the wind,Less than the foam to the sea,Less than the rose to the stormAm I to thee.More than the star to the night,More than the rain to the lea,More than heaven to earthArt thou to me.
Sara Teasdale
A Rhymeless Song.
Rhyme with its jingle still betrays The song that's meant for one alone. Dearest, I dedicate to you A little song without a rhyme. The most unpractised schoolboy knows That quiet kisses are the sweetest. Safe locked within my arms you lie, Let not a single sound betray us. Suppose your jealous mother came By chance this way and found us here... Be still, be still, and not a sound Shall give her warning that we love.
Edward Shanks
Love's Seasons
When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vineAnd the summer days are in their bloom,Then my love is deepest, oh, dearest heart of mine,When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine.When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray,And the land is dim with winter gloom,Then for thee, my darling, love will have its way,When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray.In the vernal dawning with the starting of the leaf,In the merry-chanting time of spring,Love steals all my senses, oh, the happy-hearted thief!In the vernal morning with the starting of the leaf.Always, ever always, even in the autumn drear,When the days are sighing out their grief,Thou art still my darling, dearest of the dear,Always, ever alw...
Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Fisher's Wife.
A long, low waste of yellow sandLay shining northward far as eye could reach,Southward a rocky bluff rose highBroken in wild, fantastic shapes.Near by, one jagged rock towered high,And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim,Striving to peer into the mysteriesThe ocean whispers of continually,And covers with her soft, treacherous face.For the rest, the sun was sinking lowLike a great golden globe, into the sea;Above the rock a bird was flyingIn dizzy circles, with shrill cries,And on a plank floated from some wreck,With shreds of musty seaweedClinging to it yet, a woman satHolding a child within her arms;A sweet-faced woman - looking out to seaWith dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child,And this the song she in the sunse...
Marietta Holley
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,And you and I, and talked of poetry.I said, "A line will take us hours maybe;Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.Better go down upon your marrow-bonesAnd scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stonesLike an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;For to articulate sweet sounds togetherIs to work harder than all these, and yetBe thought an idler by the noisy setOf bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymenThe martyrs call the world.'And thereuponThat beautiful mild woman for whose sakeThere's many a one shall find out all heartacheOn finding that her voice is sweet and lowReplied, "To be born woman is to know --
William Butler Yeats
Patience Of Hope.
The flowers that bloom in sun and shadeAnd glitter in the dew,The flowers must fade.The birds that build their nest and singWhen lovely spring is new,Must soon take wing.The sun that rises in his strengthTo wake and warm the world,Must set at length.The sea that overflows the shoreWith billows frothed and curled,Must ebb once more.All come and go, all wax and wane,O Lord, save only ThouWho dost remainThe Same to all eternity.All things which fail us nowWe trust to Thee.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
To Isabel.
(ISABELLA STEWART)Since ere I left my native isle,My childhood's home, life's happy smileAnd crossed the separating seas,Nothing my lonely heart could pleaseTill now--and oh, I cannot tellHow I admire thee, Isabel!There are, in my dear island green,Most lovely faces to be seen,Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee,Beamed there in laughing love on meNow I'm alone from day to day,They're all three thousand miles away.A stranger's face each face I see,And every eye is cold to me,No friendly voice, no kind caress,No spell to break the loneliness,Until I fell beneath the spellOf thy rare beauty, IsabelI watch thee from my window paneIn hopes a stolen glimpse to gainI know that purely lovely face...
Nora Pembroke
Communion.
What is it to commune?It is when soul meets soul, and they embraceAs souls may, stooping from each separate sphereFor a brief moment's space.What is it to commune?It is to lay the veil of custom by,To be all unafraid of truth to talk,Face to face, eye to eye.Not face to face, dear Lord;That is the joy of brighter worlds to be;And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board,We do commune with Thee.Behind the white-robed priestOur eyes, anointed with a sudden grace,Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest,A dim beloved Face.And is it Thou, indeed?And dost Thou lay Thy glory all awayTo visit us, and with Thy grace to feedOur hungering hearts to-day?And can a thing so sweet,And can such heavenly co...
Susan Coolidge
Growth.
O'Er field and plain, in childhood's artless days,Thou sprang'st with me, on many a spring-morn fair."For such a daughter, with what pleasing care,Would I, as father, happy dwellings raise!"And when thou on the world didst cast thy gaze,Thy joy was then in household toils to share."Why did I trust her, why she trust me e'er?For such a sister, how I Heaven should praise!"Nothing can now the beauteous growth retard;Love's glowing flame within my breast is fann'd.Shall I embrace her form, my grief to end?Thee as a queen must I, alas, regard:So high above me placed thou seem'st to stand;Before a passing look I meekly bend.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To Sleep
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steepIn rich reward all suffering; Balm that tamesAll anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aimsTakest away, and into souls dost creep,Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone,I surely not a man ungently made,Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown,Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
William Wordsworth
Leonainie
Leonainie - Angels named her;And they took the lightOf the laughing stars and framed herIn a smile of white; And they made her hair of gloomy Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy Moonshine, and they brought her to meIn the solemn night. - -In a solemn night of summer,When my heart of gloomBlossomed up to greet the comerLike a rose in bloom; All forebodings that distressed me I forgot as Joy caressed me - (Lying Joy! that caught and pressed meIn the arms of doom!)Only spake the little lisperIn the Angel-tongue;Yet I, listening, heard her whisper -"Songs are only sung Here below that they may grieve you - Tales but told you to deceive you, - So must Leonainie leave you<...
James Whitcomb Riley
To The Daisy (2)
"Her divine skill taught me this,That from every thing I sawI could some instruction draw,And raise pleasure to the heightThrough the meanest objects sight.By the murmur of a spring,Or the least bough's rustelling;By a Daisy whose leaves spreadShut when Titan goes to bed;Or a shady bush or tree;She could more infuse in meThan all Nature's beauties canIn some other wiser man.' G. Wither. In youth from rock to rock I went,From hill to hill in discontentOf pleasure high and turbulent,Most pleased when most uneasy;But now my own delights I make,My thirst at every rill can slake,And gladly Nature's love partake,Of Thee, sweet Daisy!Thee Winter in the garland wearsThat thinly...
Young Love IV - Once
Once we met, and then there cameLike a Pentecostal flame,A word;And I said not,Only thought,She heard!All I never say but sing,Worshipping;Wrapt in the hidden tongueOf an ambiguous song.How we met what need to say?When or where,Years ago or yesterday,Here or there.All the song is - once we met,She and I;Once, but never to forget,Till we die.All the song is that we meetNever now -'Hast thou yet forgotten, sweet?''Love, hast thou?'
Richard Le Gallienne
May Song.
Between wheatfield and corn,Between hedgerow and thorn,Between pasture and tree,Where's my sweetheartTell it me!Sweetheart caught INot at home;She's then, thought I.Gone to roam.Fair and lovingBlooms sweet May;Sweetheart's roving,Free and gay.By the rock near the wave,Where her first kiss she gave,On the greensward, to me,Something I see!Is it she?
Lessons For A Child.
I.There breathes not a breath of the morning air,But the spirit of Love is moving there;Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy treeMingles with thousands in harmony;But the Spirit of God doth make the sound,And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around.And the sunshiny butterflies come and go,Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro;And not a wave of their busy wingsIs unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things.And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon,And dance in the light of the mystic moon--All have one being that loves them all;Not a fly in the spider's web can fall,But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly;And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh.How it can be, I cannot know;He is wiser than...
George MacDonald
To .......
Sweet lady, look not thus again: Those bright, deluding smiles recallA maid remember'd now with pain, Who was my love, my life, my all!Oh! while this heart bewildered took Sweet poison from her thrilling eye,Thus would she smile and lisp and look, And I would hear and gaze and sigh!Yes, I did love her--wildly love-- She was her sex's best deceiver!And oft she swore she'd never rove-- And I was destined to believe her!Then, lady, do not wear the smile Of one whose smile could thus betray;Alas! I think the lovely wile Again could steal my heart away.For, when those spells that charmed my mind On lips so pure as thine I see,I fear the heart which she resigned Will err again an...
Thomas Moore
Sonnet, To Mrs. Bates.
Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys,Thou who can'st all its subject passions move,Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise,Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!Happy! whom nature lent this native charm;Whose melting tones can shed with magic power,A sweeter pleasure o'er the social hour,The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm - Butyet more happy! that thy life as clearFrom discord, as thy perfect cadence flows;That tun'd to sympathy, thy faithful tear,In mild accordance falls for others woes;That all the tender, pure affections bindIn chains of harmony, thy willing mind!
Helen Maria Williams